


since that night the moon has never seemed the same

by dingletragedy



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ex Sex, Lots of it, Lots of plot, M/M, Smut, and lots of feelings everywhere, too much plot if anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22424617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dingletragedy/pseuds/dingletragedy
Summary: “I’m sorry,” Ben gasps out between breaths, pressing in hard. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Callum. I’m sorry about yesterday and I’m sorry about this and I’m sorry about—about what I've done. About everything.”“Don’t. Not if you don’t mean it, Ben.”“I’m sorry,” Ben says again, because he can’t say anything else. "I am."He feels so incredibly exposed, laid bare, as if his every thought is being projected onto the walls for Callum to read and sift through. He’s nervous suddenly, and something feels like it’s about to break, like a storm is brewing just outside the pub door, ready to barge its way in and lay waste to the way they’ve found themselves once again. He wills it away, wills the heat to stay, for the rain to never, ever touch their skin again.or, the four times they have ex-sex and the one time they have no need to
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 32
Kudos: 232





	since that night the moon has never seemed the same

**Author's Note:**

> finally, we have the fic!!!! what was just supposed to be a quick lil 1k fic has somehow turned into an 11k small monster that took the best part of two weeks! 
> 
> i'm still worried it's going to disappoint, but i've spent SO long editing it and i've decided i'm never going to be completely happy with it (shocker) 
> 
> anyway, i had so much fun writing it and i'm a lil nervous to post it because its a bit different from my usual stuff but i hope you all really like it!! and thank you so so so much for all the support as always, you guys truly are the best! <333
> 
> (title from lost - dermot kennedy aka the most ballum song to exist)

**one**

They reach for each other at the same time, frantic, shaking fingers undoing buttons and zips, bruising and biting. Their knuckles bump and slide together, hipbones knocking as they shift down to the desk, the hush and tentative exploring caresses turning into desperate presses, into moaning and teeth and curled fingers that dig in. Callum’s skin feels tight with shuddery goosebumps, with the need to touch and taste and be close again. 

Ben is gorgeous beneath him, sprawled out on his back, the rarest of constellations deep in his eyes; framed lashes fluttering. Lips like the galaxy's edge; bitten red by Callum’s teeth. 

“Been thinking about this so much,” Callum whispers, tucking his fingers into Ben’s underwear, feeling the delicate skin there. He wants to suck marks to that spot, wants to kiss his way down to Ben’s cock and split his mouth over him, be surrounded by the heat of his thighs. “Thinking about _you_ so much.”  
  
“Prove it, then,” Ben says, shifting his hips up impatiently, bratty and glinting with mischief. When their mouths meet again Callum is the one who has to coax Ben’s tongue out of his mouth, tilting his head back and opening wider, nipping on Ben’s bottom lip. He gasps when they make contact, and Ben answers with a choked-off little moan, so deep Callum can feel it rumble in his chest.

He moves to press his lips against Ben’s neck, leaves wet-wet kisses there, and smiles at the slow way Ben goes pliant for him, legs spreading, hitching up, making room for Callum’s hand to trail down, to cup him properly. 

Ben is warm in his hand, pulsing and thick, and Callum is skirting down his body before his brain connects. He tilts his head to press the lightest ghost of a kiss right in the dip there before moving to tug Ben’s boxers over his hip, legs hanging clumsily off the desk. “Yeah. _That’s it_.” Callum noses lower still, sucks a bruise into Ben’s inner thigh before splitting his mouth over his cock, sinking down until his eyes fill and it burns, so needy to ground himself, to give Ben everything he can.

“ _Shit_ ,” Ben’s hips shift, and he tugs at Callum’s hair the moment his lips are on him, legs spread obscenely. Callum sucks him off dirty and wet and. hurried, blood roaring through his ears in tidal waves. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, this sudden burning in his chest, this sudden need to give Ben his last breath, the sudden need to hold and to touch and to take. His stomach is sitting low, hot like coals, shaking. 

“Yeah, like that,” Ben moans, the praise igniting something deep inside Callum. 

Things get a little frantic then, hips rolling against lips, fingers shaky and desperate wherever they can reach. He’s been thinking about this for weeks, about Ben letting him get close enough to touch this way again, letting him press kisses wherever he likes, letting him tell his truths. He feels so breathless, like he’s been running and running and running and now he’s finally halted to a stop, sucking in greedy, heady gulps of air, lungs burning with it. 

Before, when everything was soft and bright, they’d been taking their time with each other, after the urgency of the first few times had worn off, they’d dedicated their time to learning each other’s bodies. Slowly, softly and full of heart.

_“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Callum, come on, please—”_

This time is different, though. There’s a current of urgency buzzing underneath their skin, like this can’t happen fast enough but at the same time, Callum wants to slow it all down, to experience it all over and over, draw it out and make it last forever.  
  
He has to swallow back a moan at the thought of it all, of being here, of being _back_ , with Ben, and instead, focuses on the circle of his thumb and forefingers keeping a tight grip on the base of Ben’s cock as he takes him back down in one go. Callum’s learned a lot about what Ben likes in the last few months, and he puts it all to use now, forcing the younger man to bite down on his knuckles as he works his flattened tongue over the underside of his cock. Callum likes it too, the weight of Ben on his tongue, his jaw aching in that maddening, familiar way that makes his own hips rock forward helplessly.  
  
It’s too soon when Ben wriggles his hips, his body jerking back on the desk, and his cock falling from Callum’s lips, slick with his spit. Ben lets out a long, shaky breath, and Callum hardly cares how desperate and eager he must look when he leans forward to try and get him back in his mouth. He isn’t successful, due in part to Ben pressing his thumb against his mouth instead, letting it catch on his bottom lip.

“Callum, _Callum_ , come up here, wanna—wanna see you,” Ben finally says, and then contradicts his own words by letting Callum take the head of his cock back between his lips, only for a second before he pops off and responds: “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

And with that, Callum climbs back up Ben’s body, fingers pulling at shirt buttons as he goes. He gets a hand back cupping Ben’s face, trials it up and grips at his hair, fingers curling around his nape, pulling him closer. With his head tilted to the side, neck exposed, Callum is free to run his lips against the canvas that is Ben’s body, pressing a litany of open-mouthed kisses on pale skin. His tongue darts out to lick at a spot near the elder’s pulse line, kissing it once before gently biting the soft skin.

“Want you, Callum. God—want you so bad.” 

Suddenly Ben’s hands are everywhere; sliding through Callum’s hair, pulling at his own, curling over the side of the desk for purchase. Callum drinks him down; long steady pulls of his mouth, teeth and tongue grazing skin, sure to mark, enough to make Ben cry out.  
  
“Come on,” Ben whined, impatient as ever. 

Ben’s chest is flushed where his shirt buttons are popped open, hair at his temples sticky. “I want—want you,” he whispers against Callum's lips, once they’re level with each other again. “ _Here_.”

“You’ve got me,” Callum whispers back, and it's all too soft, words of _I don’t want your love_ ringing false in his ears. Ben tightens his legs around Callum’s waist, locks his ankles at the small of his back, reaches for Callum’s wrist with shaking fingers and guides his hand down, down, down.

“Always,” Callum promises a beat later, and it's as if he can’t get his brain to work with his mouth, because he’s promising _forever_ when Ben wants _never_ . But he can feel Ben shaking beneath him at Callum’s fingers, can feel the jump of muscles in his thighs and he’s helpless with it. Always is when it comes to Ben.  
  
“Top drawer,” Ben says. Callum reaches for what they need immediately.  
  
He swallows when he slips his first slick finger in, anticipation shooting through him at the tiny sound Ben makes, the way his legs fall open and he presses into it. Their faces rest together, breaths coming out al stuttered and hot along their cheeks, chests quaking together. Ben has his hands on Callum’s waist, his thumbs digging into the sharpest point of the bone, where his skin is pulled tight.  
  
Callum twists his finger, and when he adds the second, Ben bites at the hinge of his jaw sharply, hell-bent on Callum’s hands. “ _More_ .”  
  
The kiss that Callum pulls him into is messy and uncoordinated, and it becomes broken when Callum pushes his fingers in hard, stretches them and slips in another, Ben pushes into it further, rolls his hips as Callum thrusts his fingers in and out. It’s overwhelming, the tight heat of him. Callum aches for it.  
  
“I’m ready, I’m ready,” Ben babbles, high and strained as Callum gives his fingers one final twist. “Callum, _please_ .”  
  
And when he holds Ben’s legs open and pushes in slowly, there’s sounds of _Oh, God_ and _Yeah_ and _More_. 

Ben’s hands scramble to Callum’s arse, and he pulls him in faster, harder, insistent and impatient. Callum’s jaw is locked open, arms shaking as he holds himself up on the desk, as he’s surrounded by wet heat and tightness. 

“You feel amazing,” Callum gasps, blinking harshly as it becomes so much, _too much,_ all at once. Ben is fidgeting beneath him desperately, rolling his hips to try and find that friction, to stretch himself more.  
  
For a moment, Callum’s mind drifts back three weeks, when Ben had taken him out to the street and crushed this heart with harsh words and a cold stare. Callum pulls out and thrusts back into him, a hard snap of his hips that punches a choked gasp from Ben’s throat.

He wishes he could hate Ben. Forget him. Do everything exes are _supposed_ to do. But there's this steady thrum of _BenBenBen_ spinning his heart. He couldn’t halt it even if he wanted to. 

And then Ben grips Callum’s hair in his hand, tugs hard and slams their mouths together, an action that says: _take me, take me, take me._ _  
_ _  
_ It all rushes over Callum’s like a tidal wave, and he moves relentlessly.  
  
Because this is the type of sex that screams _love_ , the type of connection that makes him feel like he can do anything, be anything. Their bodies are pressed together, limbs interlocked in a jumble, just trying to hold on wherever they can, just trying to press close enough that it almost hurts, that every part of their bodies is feeling it.  
  
“Harder,” Ben whimpers, clinging to him.

“Yeah,” Callum grits out, slams into him so that their bodies shift, desk creaking and shaking on frail legs. There’s a dizziness in his veins and his head and his heart and — “Fuck, s’good, Ben, you feel—”

His hips are snapping fervently, chest heaving as he tries to breathe with it all, tries to get enough air into his lungs to stop himself from going under too fast. He can hear the hitching in Ben’s breath, can feel the way he’s starting to flutter around him, muscles jumping and twitching. He leans one hand just above Ben’s head so he doesn’t fall, and brings his other hand to Ben’s cock, stroking him fast and slick while he presses in deep. It sends Ben crying out, chest rising off the desk slowly as he comes, as Callum rocks into that spot over and over.  
  
“Fuck, fuck,” Ben cries, wraps his arms over Callum’s neck, clings to him as he shakes through it, and when Callum comes, he sees white. He sees snow and ice and a blizzard that whips around him violently, feels it rattle his chest and shoot through him, from the core of his heart down to the tips of his toes. It leaves them burning, that cold he felt in the last three weeks, in the emptiness, the one so icy that it became painful, suddenly melts away, leaving bright sunshine and brilliantly crashing waves in its wake. 

Slowly, Callum brings his hips to a stop, gradually rocking in and out until his body is calm enough again to be rational, to pull out of Ben gently and press a firm kiss to his lips, to his chest, his collarbone. His fingers are twitching when he pulls the condom off and ties it, pulling his underwear and trousers back up, taking himself to the sofa to cool off.

::

Afterwards, there’s confessions of _I miss you's_ , lies of _t_ _his was a mistake_ , pleads of _talk to me. A_ nd finally, Callum’s heart thrown as far as Ben can toss it. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**two**

Callum’s on a date. He’s on a date, and this time, Ben is sure of it. 

He realises he’s staring at the same time that Callum does, and watches in fascination as Callum re-moulds his face from a pleasant, smiling mask, to a look that can only be described as a glare. He turns his eyes from Ben’s, and back to the man occupying the seat opposite. 

But Ben, well he can’t take his eyes off the pair; fixated and unwavering, despite the twinge in his stomach. Every now and then, Callum will turn to look at Ben, hold steady eye contact for a few seconds, and then dismissively turn his head before placing his hand back on the stranger’s thigh; dangerously high and with intent.

Ben feels a slow, burning lick of something he doesn’t want to admit is jealousy sneak up his spine.

He’s been jealous before. _Of course he has_ . After all, Callum did have a bloody Fiancé not so long ago.  
  
But this, this growing ache inside Ben pangs in a different way, now driven by the possibility of Callum laughing with someone else, sharing secrets and dreams with someone else, sleeping with someone else. _Someone who isn’t Ben._

The thought coils something foreign in his stomach.  
  
Something unwanted, yet addictive.

Ben wants Callum’s hands on him. He wants them, big and clumsy as they are, on his shoulders, his neck, his back, his hips. Everywhere, all at once.

He thinks of their lips pressed together, thinks of his hands on Callum’s chest, of all the intimate ways they’ve been, and tries to ignore the ugly flare of heat that burns in his stomach at the thought of anyone else touching him like that, getting to see Callum in the dark, eclipsed by light and shadow and everything soft.

Just the thought of it all has Ben going hot under the collar, and he feels sweat beaded on his forehead in the flashing lights of the Albert. He closes his eyes, looks away for a bit, and focuses on the quiet whistle of wind filtering through a crack in the window.

There’s jealousy and there’s anger and there’a want _. So much want_ .  
  
Suddenly this is the last place Ben wants to be, embarrassingly propping up the bar, watching Callum make is home in another’s heart. 

His legs itch to carry him out of here, but he doesn’t exactly want to be anywhere else, either.

He stands abruptly, the bar stool rocking with the force of his movements, before his feet take themselves in the general direction of the toilets.  
  
He makes a slight detour, though. Arm brushing purposely against Callum’s back, knocking once; twice, with intent.  
  
He looks both ways to make sure no one was paying him any attention, before he swings the bathroom door open and makes his way over to the sink. Trembling fingers gripping white around the bowl.

::

It doesn’t take Callum long to appear at his side, but when he does, Ben freezes again. Unsure of what to do, what to say, now they’re alone.  
  
The bright lights; flashes of pinks, yellows, blues, greens are sneaking through the gap under the door. Illuminating the room in an array of a million colours. But all Ben sees is black and white.  
  
And a colour undetectable.  
  
Ben turns then, hands hanging loosely and when he glances up, Callum’s blinking at him heavily, washed out by the sickly yellow light. The air grows thicker, heavy with apprehension.  
  
“What are you playing at?” Is what Ben says to breaks the silence. It comes out bitter and bleak, accusing. 

“I’m on a date, Ben. It’s quite simple. Oh and this one, this is a real date, yeah? So do us all a favour and go home, will you?” 

“Another one?” Ben questions, voice teasing and pulling. “Although I have to say, you’ve stepped your game up slightly. This one is more of a prawn cocktail, than a _cocktail sausage,_ I suppose.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” 

“How long has he been around, then?” Ben presses on, slightly hysterical. “Because you had your dick in my mouth a few days ago, so it must be fresh. Or is it serious? Been latched onto him this whole time, have you?”   
  
“It’s not—”  
  
“Like that?” Ben finishes, and Callum’s mouth clicks shut. “Right. Goodnight, Callum.”  
  
“Ben, wait,” Callum calls as Ben’s hand connect with the door, but it’s not a plea, rather a demand. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to keep pushing me away, break my fucking heart, and then kick off when I try to pick up the piece _you_ left behind. It’s not fair Ben, it’s not—.”

“Life ain’t fucking fair, Callum. You’ll learn that one day," Ben says, words worryingly harsh and cold. Disconnected. 

“Why are you being like this Ben? This ain’t you.” And there it is again, that innocence, that belief that shines for Callum’s every pore. It only makes Ben ache for him more. 

“It is now." 

Callum raises a slow eyebrow, hands raising in exasperated movements. “What’s that even supposed to mean?” 

“You hate me,” Ben voices, tone worryingly controlled. “You want nothing to do with me.”  
  
“No,” Callum replies, taking a shaky step closer to Ben, teeth catching over his bottom lip, worrying the skin there. “That’s not true.”  
  
“Well, it should be.” Ben hiccups and puts his palms to his eyes, digs in just harshly enough that he stays seeing stars; seeing Callum and that brilliant smile and everything he _loves_ about him. He’s almost waiting for Callum’s fingers to circle his wrists and press his hands over his heart instead, say something completely soppy like; take it, take my heart, don’t you see it belongs to you? 

“Don’t—don’t do that Ben. Don’t tell me how I feel. I know how I feel and I can’t just stop that, alright?”

Before Ben has time to think about what he’s soon to do, time to change his own mind, he smashes their mouths together, painful and biting and nothing like the kisses they’ve shared before, bruising and tasting of salted tears, metallic and wrong. Callum makes a hurt noise in the back of his throat, screws up his face and clings so harshly to the bones of Ben’s wrists he’s scared they’re going to bend and break under the pressure.  
  
It doesn’t last long though, because Ben breaks himself away, gasping, frantically searching for his breath in the dark of the toilets stalls, fingers slipping and clutching the fabric of Callum’s shirt, their cheeks sliding, faces resting against jaws and necks, all stuttered, harsh breathing and the uneven rise and fall of ribs. He’s so confused, so upset and worn out, devastated that the memory of their last kiss is seared with pain and regret.  
  
“Does he make you feel good, then?” he whispers the words against Callum’s throat, scrapes his teeth against his skin and revels at the way Callum goes rigid and wound up against him, a tiny sound escaping the back of his throat. “Make you laugh? Make you happy? Or does he make you cry, like I do?”  
  
“Ben,” Callum whispers on a stuttered breath, because their hips are rolling together now, their foreheads pressed close, lips brushing. _“Stop.”_

“Tell me,” Ben says, wrecked and rasping.

“No,” Callum juts his chin out. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
Ben ducks his head, “you know why.” Callum just arches up into him, fingers scrambling over his back, leaving crescents in Ben’s skin through the thickness of his shirt. He bites, licks and sucks and makes Ben’s skin shiny with it, and he can’t place the fire in his belly, the swell of fuzzy, frantic heat that’s burning between his hips. He feels grossly possessive over this, over something that isn’t even his, but he can’t stop, can’t make himself come up for air. Callum is addictive and Ben’s in love. Plain and simple.  
  
“Tell me,” Ben says again, muffled against Callum’s collarbone where he’s moved down to suck another mark.  
  
He knows Callum won’t say anything, he’s too good for that, _too good for Ben_ , but there’s something akin to jealousy swirling in the pit of Ben’s stomach, familiar and scaring him shitless and he doesn’t need Callum’s assurance, he’s not owed it, but God, he wants it, wants it so fucking badly. It’s terrifying.  
  
The air around them is practically electric, burning and buzzing with things unsaid and neediness, and Ben crawls back up Callum’s body to kiss his neck, heart sinking and shaking in his chest because there’s a lingering thought in his mind that won’t leave him alone now, this mantra of _mine-mine-mine_ that he tries to will away, tries not to breathe in Callum’s skin and think this is for me to kiss.  
  
But then Callum’s palms are pressing against Ben’s shoulders under his shirt, arching up into him. “No. Nobody makes me feel like you do. They never could,” is what he says, a shaky, whispered rasp that falls out from his lips like an accident, jarring, and the roaring heat that surges up Ben’s body feels like fire. 

Ben pauses, blinks up at him in the orange-dark. They’re still for a moment, just watching each other. Then, Callum’s hands come up to clasp Ben’s neck, and he’s pulling their lips together again, noses brushing, falling together against the toilet stall door. Ben doesn’t have any time to steady himself, just lets their bodies press, lets their teeth clack for an awkward beat before their tongues slide and things go warm and heady. 

The breath Callum exhales past Ben’s lips is shaky, the same shakiness that rests in his fingers when they find Ben’s hips, curling into the small of his back, rucking up his shirt, pressing closer. Callum is holding on so tightly to him, and he tastes like the darkness of coffee and amber liquor, smells like the subtleness of a cologne so achingly familiar.

Callum is warm and pliant under him, giving to Ben’s hands, and it shouldn’t be like this, Ben knows that. He knows he should be staying away from Callum, allowing him to move on, to be free; but he can’t let him go. _He can’t_. 

He threads his hands into Callum’s hair, so soft and silky beneath his fingers, and pulls their mouths back together, kisses as natural as breathing. He’s never wanted anybody, anything more in his life than this, than the wet press of their mouths, the heat of Callum’s hands sliding down his back.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Ben gasps out between breaths, pressing in hard. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Callum. I’m sorry about yesterday and I’m sorry about this and I’m sorry about—about what I've done. _About_ _everything_.”

“ _Don’t_ . Not if you don’t mean it, Ben.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Ben says again, because he can’t say anything else. "I am." 

He feels so incredibly exposed, laid bare, as if his every thought is being projected onto the walls for Callum to read and sift through. He’s nervous suddenly, and something feels like it’s about to break, like a storm is brewing just outside the pub door, ready to barge its way in and lay waste the way they’ve found themselves once again. He wills it away, wills the heat to stay, for the rain to never, ever touch their skin again.  
  
“Sh, sh. It don’t matter,” another searing kiss, a hot press of their bodies, “not right now.”  
  
Ben whines softly, and Callum shudders, grabbing his hand and pulling them backwards, locking the toilet door shut behind them. “Oh, my God,” he sighs out at the press of their bodies, burying his face in Callum’s neck once more to try and form any coherent through.  
  
“Kiss me,” Ben breathes. “Don’t stop kissing me.”

Callum kisses a line from Ben’s jaw to his lips. He cradles his jaw, presses his thumbs against the hinges, and Ben makes a throaty noise, opening his mouth wide and arching up. 

After that, things blur.

Vaguely, he registers the moment Callum trails them into one of the stalls, door locking shut behind them. And then it’s Callum up against the door, Ben firm with his hold on the older man. Bare skin of the chests slide together, the sweat of them, and the wet of their cocks rubbing. It pools this giddiness in Ben’s belly, something dirty, and when he sucks on Callum’s tongue it just continues to intensify until he can scarcely breathe.  
  
Their hands don’t stop moving. Callum keeps touching him, keeps stroking him slow and syrupy, digs his knuckles into the knots of Ben’s lower back to make him keen, tugs his hair sharply to make him moan. And in turn, Ben stretches Callum’s left thigh around his waist, mouths over his neck until the skin is dewy with it and they’re both red-cheeked and breathless, panting, lips and tongues sliding together.  
  
That’s how they stay, Callum’s legs spread to accommodate Ben, rubbing off against each other, their mouths slippery and wet, kisses all deep and woozy and distracted. When they finally come, it feels like the lazy spread of a wave meeting the shore, the fizzle of seafoam touching toes, and Ben is gradual with it, lips parting, holding on tight as he spills between them, little sounds rolling off his tongue. Callum catches them all, slumps into Ben’s neck when he starts to come too.  
  
Ben doesn’t know how long they stand there for, how long it takes for his breathing to settle and the heat crawling his neck to fade. Callum presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw, toeing this side of _too gentle_ , and they stay tangled together against the door, catching their breaths, skin shaded in reds and greens.  
  
Something flickers in Ben’s chest when he looks over at the rosy outline of Callum's face. He isn’t sure what it is, but it’s warm and weighty, and it’s getting harder to ignore.

::

Afterwards, chests still flushed bright pink, lips swollen red, hair damp and askew, Ben sneaks out the back as Callum return to his date, excuses bubbling in his throat. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**three**

The sound of his own footsteps against the gravel path up to the Mitchell’s house sound like bullets, each one leading Callum closer to his death.  
  
He comes to a stop the moment he reaches the back door, the yellow lights bathing the porch sting his eyes. His finger lingers over the doorbell, petrified, seconds dripping like honey, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head that’s pleading him to just go back outside into the night. He closes his eyes slowly, breathing in, filling up his lungs. He fights the instinct, biting his lips, trying to reason with his own mind.

His chest feels a little like it’s caving in when he rings the doorbell, and Ben answers even before the sound carries around the house. Callum freezes and lowers his hand, staring fixedly over Ben’s shoulder, waiting for him to make the first move.  
  
“Callum,” Ben croaks, his body still blocking the doorway. Callum forces himself to look at him, swallowing the aching lump in his throat.

“Hi,” Callum says, his voice doesn’t sound anywhere near sure, or unaffected, or even calm.

“What are you doing here?” Ben questions, frown creasing at his forehead. Obviously Callum was the last person Ben was expecting on the other side of the door tonight. 

“I—“ Callum starts, he wants to say how much he misses him. He wants to tell Ben about how he can’t sleep anymore, all he can think about at night when the world finally quiets, is the way that Ben talks, _hums,_ in his sleep, and the way his body felt next to him — reassuring and _so fucking real._ He wants to tell Ben how he picks up the phone to text or call him at least 50 times a day, but when he stops himself he has to swallow down the bittersweet anger at Ben, at himself, for ending up here again. 

“I’ve just come to pick some of my stuff up,” is what he says instead. “If that’s alright?”

Ben just stares down at him and Callum watches the confusion, the anger mixed with hope, melt into something different, something more visceral, almost feral. There’s a look in Ben’s eyes now that makes Callum shake a little, the need to protect Ben coursing through him like a tidal wave. He’s not sure if it’s because Ben is so close to him, and they're back here, in this house, where they’d spent so many nights and mornings curled around each other, world forgotten in a heartbeat. Or, if it’s the way Ben is looking at him like he means _something_ , but Callum just can’t think right now. He can only feel.

_Love. Desire. Sorrow._

_Want._

But that’s not why he’s here. 

He’s here to collect his belongings that had made their way into Ben’s draws and wardrobe over the months. 

There’s an air of hesitancy to the way Ben fiddles with the door handle, pulling at the frame a little, a stop-start motion like he might be about to slam it closed again.

“Come in,” he says eventually, its quiet, strained. 

Callum shuffles inside, head ducked as he clicks the door shut behind him, trapping them together in this small space. It seems too hot, all the sudden, all the air sucked away until only the zapping tension around their bodies remains. 

“You alright?” he questions, mostly to protect himself from this, from the quiet, from way Ben is watching him. From the terrifying way Callum’s heart is beating in a rhythm of _BenBenBen._

“Brilliant,” Ben answers, reedy and thin, mouth twisting. 

They’ve talked for hours on end before, have had long, eloquent conversations about their lives, about their hopes and dreams, about their future, together. Callum has listened to Ben talk from sunset till sunrise and Ben has done the same, yet here, today, you’d think they were strangers, just two ships passing in the night.

“Sorry,” Ben breathes. Finally, he’s the one to break the eye contact, looking down at Callum’s feet while he steps back into the living room, arms open in invitation. Callum steps in past him and glances around, not allowing himself to get sentimental now. This place isn’t for him anymore, and that’s why he’s here now. “I’m alright, long day. How’re you?”

“Yeah, y’know,” Callum answers, gesturing vaguely. “Pushing on through.” 

“I’m glad,” Ben says. He sounds wrecked, broken and close to tears suddenly. _Callum hates it._

“Ben? Are you sure you’re alright, I mean really?” He asks again.

“M’fine, I told you, just—just been a bad day, that’s all,” he murmurs, turning away, breath ragged, eyes strained towards The Square through the fogged up window.  
  
“I’m just—I’m worried about ya, Ben," Callum starts, stops and clears his throat, gives himself a moment to think about his next words. “What you told me, the other day, well, it can’t be easy on you, either. And I know you’re good at putting on a show, but I’m worried you’re cracking under the surface. This ain’t like you, Ben.” 

He lets the words hang in the air, the weight of them pushing down on his shoulders like an anvil, relentless. His throat sticks as waits for Ben’s response, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. 

Sometimes, being with Ben was like navigating a dark room, feeling around where he knows the furniture is and occasionally knocking his hip into a sharp corner; it wasn’t easy and it wasn’t perfect, but they always got there eventually.  
  
He misses him. _God, he misses him._

“Do you want to talk about it?” he pushes when he’s met with more silence.

“I don’t know how,” Ben admits, meek. He looks away. “I don’t even know how to think about it.”

“I think you should start from the beginning. It ain’t good for you, Ben, bottling all this up.”  
  
_“I think,_ ” Ben counters, inhaling sharply through his nose, eyes wild suddenly, “it ain’t really up to you, to decide what is and ain’t good for me anymore.”  
  
It’s mean and it’s not fair, but then again, life isn’t. 

There's a brief silence, but Callum can hear Ben shifting his weight from one foot to another like he always does when he was unsure of what to say, where to put his face.  
  
“Okay,” Callum says finally, on an exhale. “That’s fair, I suppose. But you know you can talk to me, yeah? If you need to, you can.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ben says. _What for_ , Callum challenges with his eyes. _Why. “_ Again.”

He says nothing else, eyes searching. And Callum knows they’re both thinking the same thing right now. It’s about who’s going to break first, who’s going to take their hands off the handlebars and fly blind.

But Callum knows, now, that this, the two of them in the same space, will always be hard, and painful, and frustratingly circular until they either die trying or give up. _Again_.

Ben comes forward once more, like he’s trying to reassure him, say sorry the only way he knows how. He stops right in front of Callum, inches from where he’s leaning back on the couch. His breath is sweet, sickly, almost, and Callum has to close his eyes for a moment, because he’s dizzy with it, it’s all been so much in such a shirt space of time, when it’s been so little for so long. He’s so close. Callum swallows, lets out a long breath, and he sees the way Ben’s eyes watch his throat, his mouth, his eyes, just for a second. Callum’s pulse shoots up; he could reach out and touch him, and that’s so much. _Too much._

It’s frenzied, but it can be no other way. Each touch, however fleeting, is like a confirmation that their time apart has been keeping them from exactly this, las of no matter where Callum went or how long he stayed for, this was always going to happen in the end. _BenandCallum. CallumandBen_. Ben tugs him forward by the waist and their hips bump together, just once. 

Ben’s fingers burn into his skin, and when, finally, he seals their lips together, Callum closes his eyes and lets himself fall into it. 

“We should stop,” he says as they part, brain kicking into motion. In answering, Ben just kisses him again, makes Callum’s toes curl so hard they start to cramp up. 

“But I don’t want to,” Ben says. His thumb cupping at Callum’s chin, and he kisses the corner of Callum’s eye. Nobody had ever touched him like this before. “Do you?” 

“No,” Callum says, swallowing thickly at the shadows Ben’s hands make on his skin. 

“Just for tonight. Just for now.”

“Okay,” Callum answers, because he knows, now, that whatever this is, however it leaves him when the cold sun emerges in the morning, is better than nothing. 

::

Eventually, they stumble into Ben’s bedroom — it’s still just early evening. The light casts shadows through the window, a line halving the bed unevenly, more shadow than sunlight. 

“Missed you,” Ben kisses Callum’s shoulder blade, holding him close by his arms. 

Callum misses this the most. The intimacy, the caring. _The tenderness._

“What do you want?” He whispers as he kisses by Ben’s ear and guides them to the mattress. Surroundings achingly familiar. 

“Just you. Just for a little bit.” Ben slumps onto the bed, pulling at his jumper sleeves over his fists to wipe the tears. _Just pretend I’m still yours and you’re still mine, just for a little bit._

“Kiss me, then,” Callum mutters. 

Ben does. He begins with soft presses of his lips against Callum’s shoulder, then up his neck. He pecks his mouth once. Then comes back for another, and another and another, longer each time until they’ve fallen backwards onto the mattress, shirtless and kissing each other’s lips raw. 

They’re rough because it helps with forgetting why they don’t do this every day.

Callum slows down the kisses, moving away from Ben's mouth — to the side of his lips, then down his jaw, holding Ben’s head with one hand. 

Ben trails a finger down his back until he reaches the waistband of Callum’s jeans. He looks at Callum with lust, but there’s a twinge of bittersweet sadness apparent in the droop of his eyes. If Callum closes his eyes, he can imagine the last time they did this as a couple, when Ben’s smile was brighter than the sun and wider than the crescent moon outside. 

“Do you want—” Ben swallows.

“Please, Ben,” Callum interrupts him. _He just wants to forget, for a moment._

Ben nods softly and rolls over to the nightstand. Callum watches as he skips over his usual mess — a giant pile of Lexi’s reading, and littering beer cans and empty glasses. There are also pictures — formally framed, of his family; hung polaroids of him and Callum through the months, a few withJay and Lola. Callum is fixated on one item, though — a brown leather wallet, inscribed **_BM_ **. 

Ben bites the inside of his bottom lip, and they ignore the wetness of their eyes. He finds the lube and condoms and places them beside Callum, slow and silent. 

“I didn’t think you’d keep it,” Callum murmurs. 

Ben fiddles with the condom packet, eyes sad as he settles on the bed next to Callum, as he kisses down his spine. “‘Course I did.” He says, face now tucked into Callum’s shoulder, and gradually, Callum lets his cheek rest atop Ben head, the two of them resting together, eyes wet, Ben silent as he breathes slow and measured. In the distance, Callum feels that oncoming wave again, can hear that warm fizzle, that buzzing in his fingertips. _Love._ “It’s special, ain’t it?”

The rush of desire has disputed now, it’s still there, always will be, but it’s not pushing at Callum’s every crack. It’s more of a low, mellow buzz under his layers, beating in time with his heart. _Waiting, wanting_. They’ve got all night, after all. 

That rush of desire has disputed now, it’s still there, always will be, but it’s not pushing at Callum’s every crack. It’s more of a low, mellow buzz under his layers. _Waiting, wanting._ They’ve got all night, after all. 

::

When Callum wakes up, the other side of the bed is warm. Occupied. He cracks open an eye to look at the clock, telling him that it’s just past six. There’s this lingering warmth beside him, the bed dipping from the weight.

He turns to watch the clock tick on slowly, time slipping away inexorably as the minute hand and hour hand meet and part, over and over again. The room is quiet, lest for the soft breathing, the gentle inhale and exhale of the body beside him. Steady, as if he has all the time in the world.  
  
Golden light filters in from between the tilted blinds, enough to cast illuminations on the curve of Ben’s nose and the sharp line of his jaw. Callum traces every single bit and pieces of his features, down to the tiny mole right below his bottom lip. His gaze flicks up to see the way his eyes are closed, hiding away large doe eyes. He can count the long eyelashes—but he doesn’t. It’s not his place to do so anymore. 

The morning light hits directly on the dew-pink skin of Ben’s bullet wound, and something hot and sharp and indescribable pools behinds Callum’s lids, something akin to a kick in the chest. 

It’s approaching seven before Callum knows it, right at the crack of dawn. He shuffles away from the warmth beside him, trying not to disturb Ben. He stirs in his sleep, brows pinching together slightly before he relaxes again, expression softening to one of peace and tranquillity. Callum releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding, before getting off the bed, feet touching the cold floor. It’s early and it’s chilly, and he shivers from the lack of heat. Part of him wants to return to bed, reclaim the comfortable warmth from before. But once again, he doesn’t.

Silently, he picks up his clothes, strewn carelessly on the floor. They’re a little wrinkled, but he’s not one to complain. When more light peeks in and the sun begins to rise, Callum exits the room without a sound.  
  
He doesn’t let himself spare Ben a second glance.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**four**

Ben’s exhausted. 

He can feel it in every part of his body, from the worn-out soles of his shoes to the hunch of his shoulders when he walks, the way his legs just seem to drag lethargically underneath him, no matter how much energy he puts into his stride. 

_Physically, mentally, emotionally — just tired._

From the way people have been staring all day, he bets he looks it, too. He’s all too familiar with the dark circles that frame his eyes and the perpetually downward curve of his mouth. 

The clock reads 12 AM when Ben glances over at it from where he’s laying in bed. He’s on his back, hands clasped together and resting on his stomach, staring up at the ceiling. 

At first, he thought maybe he could trick himself by not sleeping in his — _their_ — bed. He’d try to drift off on the sofa, or on the seats in the car lot, or _anywhere_ he hadn’t been with Callum, but that had proved to be unsuccessful, too.

::

It’s bitingly cold out, the dark skies tinted silver from the moon, and Ben feels a few breaths away from crawling out of his skin. He’s bundled up in a coat and a scarf, chin tucked into his neck in an attempt to radiate a slight warmth. 

It feels like the entire world is asleep, almost.  
  
Ben, though, Ben is wide awake. 

Reluctantly, he checks the time again, jaw clenching tightly. **12:26**. The stars move in closer, and they seem so close tonight that Ben can almost feel them prickle over his skin, sinking inside of him and making every nerve-ending buzz, white-hot and electric. 

He’s alone at the park. The square eerily still. No life insight. _Good_. He flicks aimlessly through his texts as he waits, pausing over Callum’s name. He thinks about calling him, telling him to forget it, forget Ben and just stay at home, but he’s interrupted by the soft patter of footsteps. Ben freezes, hands dug deep in his pockets, entire body rocketed with a sudden pulse of nerves so fire-hot it makes his cold veins burn, makes his hands go sweaty and shaky. 

(He’d know those footsteps anywhere, he’s become so used to hearing them; the gentle thud-thud of Callum creeping across the landing at the Beale’s house, careful not to awake a finally sleeping Lexi. The harsher, hurried footsteps that pass across the square each morning as Callum smashes his personal running targets as Ben watches on from the bedroom window, appreciating only one thing.) 

Ben feels sick suddenly, absolutely on fire with it, burning from the inside out despite the chill that clings to the last hours of a Winter’s day. 

The only wish Ben has tonight is to just get through it. If he could just stop the supernova from exploding in his chest, from collapsing upon itself and creating a great, sucking black hole within him, he could be fine. And maybe it's a wasted wish, maybe wishes don't work when there aren't any stars to wish upon, but he needs to do this, and he needs to do so without falling into Callum’s arms at first glance.

“Hey,” Ben breathes, and he knows, meeting Callum eyes, that his words could break him, _break them_ , easy as anything. 

“Hi,” Callum says, quiet but sharp enough to cut through Ben’s facade. 

“Wasn’t sure you’d come,” Ben says, still careful, quiet, head now hanging loose between his shoulders like he can’t figure out what to do with it. 

“Well, you texted,” Callum says as he scratches awkwardly at his arm. 

“Yeah,” Ben murmurs, jaw ticking, flicking his eyes away to the empty spaces between the trees. He doesn’t know what else to say.

“I’m leaving,” Is all he manages in the end. The words sound morbid, even to his own ears.

Two words, a thousand pieces of a heart to pick up.

And suddenly it’s so, so quiet. It’s deathly fucking quiet, palpable without their usual sounds. Without the sound of their laughter or the smack of their kisses, or the unified beating of their hearts. The whole square feels thick with this tension.

Callum inhales sharply, lets it go. But still, nothing. _Silence._

“Callum,” he says quietly, “Callum.”  
  
He doesn’t look up, just closes his eyes for a moment, steadies his shaking hands. 

“Callum,” he says again, more definitive, and then he looks up. Ben isn’t prepared for the look in his eyes. It’s angry, and Callum, fuck, he doesn’t get angry. Sad, or annoyed, or hurt, yes. But anger isn’t an expression he wears very often and it’s certainly not one he wears with Ben.  
  
“What?” Callum replies flatly.  
  
Ben scrubs a hand across his face tiredly.  
  
“Ain’t you going to say anything?” He questions weakly. 

“Nothing I say is going to make a difference, is it? You ain’t going to change your mind. You ain’t going to stay, even if I beg you.” 

“I,” Ben starts, wanting to challenge Callum. He can’t bring him to though, he knows Callums right. “I’m sorry.” 

“Where? Where are you going?” Callum says suddenly, a quiet look of alarm now flickering over his features. 

“Portugal.” Ben bites his lip, hard, drops his gaze so he doesn’t have to look at the hurt written all over Callum’s features.

For a moment, Callum says nothing, and slowly, carefully, he lowers himself to sit beside Ben on the bench. They sit in silence for so long, watching the clouds move and dance through the sky. Ben’s eyes keep filling with tears and then clearing again, and he’s shaking, both from the cold and from the need to just let out a slow breath and cry. 

The thought crosses his mind then, taunting and terrible, that this could be the last time he sees Callum. So Ben turns his head, rests his cheek on his forearm and stares at him, takes in his features, as cold and twisted as they are, takes everything in, sears every dip of his face into his brain permanently, because he doesn’t want to forget his face. Even if he forgets everything else, all the hurt, all the good times, he doesn’t want to forget this.  
  
Finally, slowly, like the world is turning on its axis, Callum meets his eye. 

“Am I ever going to see you again?” Callum questions, and Ben shrugs, eyes hot. The swell rushes in, seeps through the cracks. 

“I—I ain’t sure. I hope so.” 

“Will you call, at least?” Callum whispers, almost lost between their space, between the ache in the words, how thin they tumble out.

Ben knows that he won’t, that Callum won’t either. 

“Every day,” he says despite himself.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” Callum whispers between them. “I’ll miss you too much.”

“It’s what’s best,” Ben says, it’s drilled into his mind now, like a mantra. He can’t hurt him anymore. “We both have to move on.”

“You keep saying that, but it always ends the same, Ben. Your bed, my bed, always the two of us.” 

_“I’m sorry.”_ It’s all he has. 

“I love you,” Callum says, feeble, tears spilling over, time-freezing between them. 

It’s so quietly spoken, so reserved that Ben almost misses it. There’s a warmth rising in his cheeks, eyes widening slightly as Callum drops a hand just above Ben’s knee his, thumb stroking in slow circles. 

He wishes he could catch this moment in his hands, these words, keep them always, but moments, like time, are made up of downpours, of snowstorms, sunrises and sunsets, things that can never last. _Time is slipping._ The sky is coming alive above them, heavy clouds breaking up, and it’s all slipping, the sun is rushing closer, closer, faster-faster-faster, frantic and pushing through the trees to find them.

Callum’s eyes are wet. He’s coming closer. _They’re drifting._

It’s silent for a while then, and Ben takes the chance to just listens to Callum breathe, heart thumping wildly, loudly, alarm bells and a siren song all rising to a crescendo in the back of his brain.

The stars twinkle, growing brighter—

“I should, um,” Callum starts, sitting up slowly, breathing through his nose, eyes tipping up to watch the world. “I should get going.” 

Ben doesn’t want him to leave. He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to kiss him again. And again. And again. The thought floats up like smoke, and he swallows as he watches Callum’s eyes shift over his face.

“Don’t,” Ben says, whispers, hand gripping at Callum’s shoulder as he leans closer, noses brushing, sliding along cheeks. “Don’t leave yet.” 

“Ben—“

“ _Please_ ,” he begs. His breaths are raspy. 

“This ain’t good for either of us.” 

“No, I know. But I’m going to miss you so much,” Ben admits, the vulnerability of nighttime and tiredness cracking him open, turned inside out like a raw nerve. “Like, so fucking much.”

“Okay,” Callum whispers back, swallowing thickly again. Ben tilts his head up slightly, bumps their foreheads together lightly, and softly, like a puzzle piece that’s fuzzy and worn, familiar, their lips slot together. “Ten more minutes.” 

He’s sure he must taste like stale beer and day—old sleep, but Callum sighs against his lips, fingers curling over Ben’s own, slotting into place, familiar. Ben lifts his palm to cradle Callum’s jaw, fingers sliding over and over through the soft hair by his ears, curling closer. Things start to heat up, despite the freezing temperatures curling around them. Callum’s skin is sunlight under his fingers, glowing and warm, and he dips closer, opens his mouth wider and lets Callum push him backwards, towards the park's exit. 

“Ben,” Callum breaks away abruptly, breathing heavily, hands smoothing down Ben’s chest. It’s so late, he knows, and Ben’s tired enough as it is, but the thought of missing a moment awake together is terrifying for reasons he doesn’t want to think too hard about.

“Callum,” Ben lets his lips drag over his jaw, fingers dipping beneath his waistband, feeling the hot skin of his hip and drawing him closer.

“Wait, just—” Callum grabs his wrists and tugs them away, holds them between their chests as he looks down at him. They both pause, noses bumping, moonlight hitting Callum from behind in vibrant whites and brights. 

“What?” Ben says, flexing his fingers in Callum’s grip. “What’s wrong?” 

“Take me home. Just one last time. Take me home, Ben.”

_And so Ben does._

::

When they shuffle inside Callum’s flat, it’s eerily still. The only light comes from the window at the end of Callum’s bed, splaying a silver glow over the edges of everything, moon waxing and crawling in to be close. The only sound is the stop—start of their breathing, staggered and nervous, like their wavering on the edge of merging massive here. 

Ben steps in first and tugs off his scarf. He hears the door shut behind him, feels Callum’s presence, but the light doesn’t flick on. 

But then Callum lays a gentle hand on the small of Ben’s back, and all he hears is blood rushing in his ears. Then comes his forehead, pressed between Ben’s shoulder blades, slight stubble tickling the back of his neck. He can hear Callum release of breath, a shaky sigh as his other hand joins the first, as they slide around Ben’s front to rest over his stomach. Ben swallows audibly, eyes fluttering at how gentle it is, at how much he needs.  
  
“Ben,” Callum whispers in the dark.  
  
Ben turns in his arms, and they just stare at each other for a moment, and Ben just lets it rush over him, lets himself go. He tells himself to stop thinking, to stop worrying, to put himself in the here and now; not tomorrow, not when they have to say goodbye, when he knows he’ll cry at the airport and all the way to his new home, when he’ll miss Callum so much it’ll make his teeth ache. 

Callum brings his hands to his face, and kisses him.  
  
Ben’s entire body slumps with it, falls into Callum’s own with weak knees, _falls, falls, falls_ until he’s crowding him against the door, until their thick coats rub and rustle together and the icy tips of their noses brush along their cheeks. It makes Ben inhale sharply, makes him open his mouth wider to try and take warmth from Callum’s own.  
  
It’s all too soft, too delicate, suddenly. It’s too much and so Ben changes things up. They kiss fiercely, the wet and harsh and _so_ much. Ben cradles Callum’s jaw, presses his thumbs in to say _I’m here, tomorrow I won’t be, but tonight I’m here. I’m here and I’m all yours. One last time._ Callum unzips Ben’s jacket roughly, shoves his hands under the thick fabric of his jumper and pulls desperately, drags his nails over Ben’s skin to say _I know._ They’re both gasping, both pushing and pushing until it almost hurts. Callum has Ben’s thigh in his hand, hikes it up over his waist to pull them closer.  
  
Callum whimpers into his mouth, and Ben feels everything go blank, hears white noise as the sound reaches his ears, overwhelmed. His jacket is half hanging off his shoulders and Callum’s other arm is around his neck, his fingers deep in Ben’s hair as their tongues move as one. Ben can’t be gentle, can’t contain the way he bites at Callum’s bottom lip, the way he digs his fingers in wherever they can reach, the way he wants to drag his mouth over all of him.  
  
“Ben, Ben,” Callum gasps for breath as he manages to pull away, swatting at Ben’s shoulder. Ben brings his lips to his jaw and sucks, listens to the high, keening sound Callum makes and shudders. “Want you. _Fuck_ .”  
  
Ben doesn’t let up, rolls his hips into Callum’s and moans against his neck, low and throaty and full of so much want. He wants this so much. Always. 

  
“God, Cal,” Ben breathes into his skin, brows furrowed as Callum digs his fingers into his skin.  
  
“Get your clothes off,” Callum whispers against his lips, warm breath fluttering around them. He tugs at Ben’s jacket frantically, legs slipping from his long fingers. “Get them off.”  
  
Ben captures his mouth into a slick kiss as he shrugs off his jacket, almost stumbles as he toes off his boots. They have to separate here and there, but once they’re both down to just their trousers, Callum grabs at Ben’s forearms and drags him to the bed, falls down and pulls Ben with him.  
  
Ben is on him immediately, crowds around his body and grinds his hips. Callum is hard against him, straining in his underwear. “C’mon,” Callum huffs as he tries to wiggle out of his boxers. “ _Need you._ ”  
  
“Yeah,” Ben sits up to discard of his jeans, struggling out of them. His skin erupts in goosebumps right away, and the sensation sends him spinning. He’s flushed so hot, feels like his blood is running thick like magma, but his skin runs like ice, bumps and curves that ache to be smoothed, to be touched. Callum’s palms run over Ben’s chest, and he brings himself closer again, pushes into it.

Their eyes lock, and Callum’s eyes are shiny in the moonlight, little pools of inky blue, like the sky when night comes and turns it into a sea. Ben leans down to kiss him, breathes in slow and sharp through his nose as Callum’s legs wrap around his waist, as his hands trail down his stomach, then to his cock, just teasing. Ben traps his bottom lip between his teeth, pulls it back and then slips his tongue past the gasping space that Callum leaves, that he turns into a whimper when Ben’s hand’s follow his own direction.  
  
Their knuckles bump and slide together, hipbones knocking as they shift, as the hush and the tentative caresses yet again turn into desperate presses, into moaning and teeth and curled fingers that dig in. Callum is warm in his hand, pulsing and thick, and Ben is skirting down Callum’s body before his brain connects, splitting his mouth over his cock and sinking down until his eyes fill and it burns, so needy to ground himself, to give Callum everything he can.

_Everything_ , yet the one thing Callum truly wants. 

_Ben’s heart_. 

::

Ben wakes first the following morning, tucks his arms over his stomach as he slowly sits up and glances around the bedroom. They left the curtain open, morning sun wilting through the window, pastel of its petals only just lilting over and brushing the edges of Callum’s slack face. There’s a crease in his cheek, one in his brow too. At the end of the bed, his feet poke out from the sheets. 

As he lowers his eyes back to Callum’s face, his lashes feel all sticky and heavy. _Heart too_. Yet he can’t look away. If he looks away, he might wake up. This might all be some strange figment of his imagination, a dreamworld he’s made up to escape.

But then Callum’s shuffling beside him, eyes blinking open cautiously.

“Hi,” Ben breathes, voice hoarse.

“Hi,” Callum echoes, all sleep-thick as he sits up, sheets puddled on his hips.

Ben glances over, brushes the back of his nose with his knuckles. “You, um- you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Callum says. Ben nods slowly, pulls his lips into his teeth. “Didn’t think you’d still be actually.” And it’s all a little strained, this small talk, nothing like the endless conversations they’ve had previously. Ben listens to the soft rise and fall of Callum’s breath and squeezes his eyes closed. He presses his thumb and forefinger into the corners of them and tries to steady his own breathing. 

There’s a stretched, heavy silence. Callum scratches at his cheek and looks out the window, as if he’s looking for a way to escape the inevitable. Ben can’t blame him. “What time are you leaving?”

“Uh—soon. Flights at 4.”  
  
Callum doesn’t say anything else to that, just glances up to meet Ben’s eyes for a flickering moment, then trails out of the bedroom and into the shower. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**\+ one**

The evening is growing cold and dark, almost unbearably so. Yet Ben can still feel the sweat building on the back of his neck, shirt sticking slightly, as he pushes himself to faster and faster. He’s running through the square, from one side to the other, holdall bag slung over his shoulder, and he knows he must look an idiot. He can’t bring himself to care, though, in fact, it’s getting harder to feel anything at all, other than the excitable nerves bubbling in his stomach.

The sound of his own footsteps against the stone path sound like bullets, each one leading him closer to his death. 

He comes to a stop the moment he reaches the door leading to Callum’s flat, the yellow lights bathing the porch stinging his eyes, and he thanks a God he doesn’t believe in when the intercom filters out Callum’s voice. A shaky, cautious _hello._ Hearing Callum’s voice again startles him, he’s not sure why, really, Callum is every reason he’s still here, after all. He tries to ignore the voice in the back of his head that’s pleading him to just go back outside into the night, to the airport, and far, _far_ away. He closes his eyes slowly, breathing in, filling up his lungs. He fights the instinct, biting his lips, trying to reason with his own mind and makes the short journey up to the flat.

The door is already open, ready and waiting and _so_ inviting it aches. 

He steps inside on unsteady legs, with a heart just as precarious. Once the door clicks shut behind him, Callum flicks the lights on, illuminating the room in an off-orange glow.

“Why are you here, Ben?” Callum asks, and Ben shivers against the coldness of his voice. “Ain’t you got a plane to catch in an hour?”

“I’m ain’t—ain’t going." He says. "I ain’t leaving, Callum.” 

“Aren’t you?” Callum questions, and Ben wants nothing more than to squash the uncertainty caught there. 

“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.” 

Callum whips around to face him, eyes shooting up, ears alter suddenly, as if he's been caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s you Callum. It’s always you,” Ben says, and he’s met with cautious, tired eyes, and a look of uncertainty, disbelief, and Ben hates it because he knows it’s him who put it there. He’s aware he’s not making much sense, maybe he should’ve rehearsed the actual words he wanted to say. But as it is, he can only speak from his heart. So he continues:

“I still don’t understand how you could possibly look at me and think there’s a good bone in my body, after what everything I’ve done,” Ben whispers tightly. ”And I’m _still_ sure you’re too good for me, always will be, probably. But I want to _try_ and change that. I want to be better. Because of you. _For_ you.”

_“Ben—”_

“No, no just—just listen to me for a second, will ya?” And Callum gives him a look that screams, _alright bossy._ It ignites something in Ben. “You make me so happy, Callum. A kind of happy I forgot I could be. Didn’t believe I ever would be." 

“You’re good enough for me, Ben, I promise. God, you’re—you’re too good.”

“I pushed you away because I was scared. You were right. _I was scared_ . Scared of falling in love. Scared of breaking you. Scared of breaking _me,"_ Ben explains, honest and shaky. “But I know now, that’s I ain’t scared of anything, with you by my side. And I certainly ain’t scared of loving you. 

“Ben—” Callum starts, fingers brushing over Ben’s upper arm.  
  
“I love you,” Ben says again, because it feels right. It feels warm, like something glowing a lot brighter than the sun. “Fuck, Ben, I keep trying to stop it but I just end up back here. Every time, I end up right here.”

“Dont—don’t say it if you don’t mean it, Ben.”

“You know I do. God, Callum, you know?” 

Callum remains silent for a moment, fingers locking together as he looks away. 

“I don’t know what the future looks like, hell, I don’t even know what tomorrow will bring, all I know is that I want to spend it with you. _Everyday._ And I’m scared, I’m scared of just about bloody everything at the moment, but with you by my side, I’d be fearless. Life doesn’t always go the way we want, the way we plan, you know that better than anyone, but I want to figure it all out with you. Because I love you. God, I love you. I love you."

The thing that Ben knew before is that to love is to bruise and to break. That loving somebody is turning black and blue with the weight of everything you're feeling. It's cutting yourself open at the rib cage and bleeding out over the floor and over the bedsheets, hoping with everything you have that he'll still love you even after he sees that you're not as pretty on the inside.  
  
The thing that Ben knows now is that to love, _to be loved,_ is a lot of things. It's giving someone the power to break you; it's about effort, about waking up and making the same choice every day. It's about listening to someone fall asleep, the pattern of their breath, the feel of their skin, and feeling like _this_ could be home, as long as he could hear that sound. 

And with that thought fogging like a cloud in his mind, Callum’s hands find his hips and Ben grasps at his shoulders, bodies moulding together seamlessly. 

Ben breathes, with the smallest hope in his heart and a whole new universe on his tongue; it's into the crackling electricity that's ever—present between their bodies that Callum whispers, and says: “I love you too. God, Ben, I love you.”

They kiss until they’re breathless, until there’s nothing separating life from death, and light from dark, and up from down and, _BenFromCallum_ . It’s almost as though they’re two puzzle pieces, searching for their counterparts and finding resolution in each other’s cracks as breaks. The kiss is fiery and passionate, burning flames on charcoal, blazing, as the heat scalds their skin. Yet, it’s rushed and urgent, too fast, like there’s not enough time. _But there is_ , he thinks. _There’s forever._

They kiss until they can’t, and then they pull away, and suddenly the energy is frantic and so much. 

When they break apart they linger for a moment, noses brushing, and when Ben opens his eyes Callum is smiling at him in that soft, fond way. Brighter than the sun. 

They kiss again, because they can, because if they don’t they might explode.

The warmth of it hits Ben first, the overwhelming heat of being this close to Callum again, of sharing such intimacy, and then comes the shudders, the spine-prickling, the goosebumps along his arms and neck when his bottom lip gets caught soft between Callum’s own for a moment, when a palm finds his jaw, fingers in his hair. Ben’s hands reach Callum’s body, his hip, his chest, and there, finally, palm flat over his heart, feeling it beat. He curls his fingers into Callum’s jumper, knuckles against his ribs, slotted there like a key.  
  
And maybe he finally understands it now, why those words in the books his Mum reads spend pages upon pages spilling over one four-letter word. Words dripping full of heart and heat, there for all to see, this intensity, this rawness, this belonging; _this love._  
  
And they’re surrounded by it, him and Callum. Surrounded by pages and pages of stories made up, all things Ben thought were unreachable: galaxies far away, impossible beginnings, impossible endings, all these things that could never exist in his life. But now, Ben feels it, feels the heat and the press of what was once a distant dream, becoming clearer and clearer as Callum’s teeth sink into his neck. 

He pulls back after a few moments, watching, raking over Callum’s flushed face, his damp eyes, damp mouth, the almost crazed way he blinks when their gazes lock together.

“Cal,” Ben starts. “I’m sorry, for everything, I’m so sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Callum whispers, fingers gentle in the short hair at the back of Ben’s head. 

“It’s not,” he replies, grabs spare Callum’s hand and links their fingers. “It’s not okay and I need you to let me be sorry. I don’t want to fuck this up any more than I already have. Please let me be sorry.”  
  
“Yeah,” Callum nods. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

And Ben hates that his eyes going misty and hot and he hates that he’s about to cry but then Callum is pulling him in, and he’s warm and safe and _his_. 

“Hey, shh. Just, forget about all that now, yeah? It’s just me and you, and I wanna take care of you.”

  
::

Later, when they lie together with their mouths bumping, their breaths slow and sated, Callum whispers, “Stay tonight. Please.”  
  
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Ben replies.  
  
Callum holds him close, presses his front to Ben’s back and wraps an arm around his waist. He rubs his thumb over his scar, kisses the back of his neck. The curtains stay drawn back, streetlights and the moon casting a soft glow over them. Beneath the covers, against Callum, Ben feels entirely warm, alive, _free_ , from his skin to his heart.  
  
“I love you,” Callum says again, lips dragging over Ben’s nape, breathing him in.  
  
“I love you, too,” Ben echoes.  
  
His hand comes to rest over Callum’s, linking them together.  
  
They fall asleep like that, curled together, the moon watching on from the window.

::

Later, when moonlight is flooding in through the open windows and coloring Callum’s bedroom silver, they take each other to a place only the other can lead them. 

_(There’s nothing frantic about the sex this time, despite the need and want and desire. It’s soft, and it’s new, and Ben’s neither of them have ever felt anything quite like it before._

_It’s love.)_

Even later, when then they fall under the covers, Callum kisses him until the world around them blurs and fades out, both of them slipping into dreams of their future.

_Together._

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading n i would love to hear what you thought!!!! i'm on tumblr/twitter @ dingletragedy xx


End file.
